Capturing the King of Kings
by Listen Out Loud
Summary: The vast desert holds secrets long forgotten. Naida remembers and forgets, searching without cause, finding without meaning. One desert warrior finds what he never sought. Ardeth/OC. R&R. Rating subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything Mummy related, but Naida is **_**mine**_**. No-touchy.**

**oOOo**

**Chapter 1: The Storm**

**oOOo**

_I met a traveler from an antique land_

_Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone_

_Stand in the desert… Near them, on the sand_

_Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown_

_And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command_

_Tell that its sculptor well those passions read_

_Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,_

_The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:_

_And on the pedestal these words appear:_

"_My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:_

_Look upon my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"_

_Nothing beside remains. Round the decay_

_Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare_

_The lone and level sands stretch far away._

"Ozymandias", Percy Bysshe Shelley

**oOOo**

The woman gazed across the blazing sands furiously, her eyes squeezed into slits to keep the whirling sands. She pulled her face scarf up higher, cursing her refusal of a full face mask. Under the thick cloth, her tongue darted out to wet the cracked surface of her lips. Almost as if embarrassed by the innate action, she sucked her tongue back in, diligent in her refusal to lose the precious moisture in her body.

Sighing in exasperation, she moped at the beads of sweat on her exposed skin, shoving the piece of cloth back into place. The robes she ore were the color of wet sand, just light enough to reflect some of the sun's heat and styled in the practical loose ants and long sleeved tunic of a men's clothing, which formed a shapeless, sexless figure.

Turning back to her thankless task, she plowed the blade of her shovel into the yielding, shifting sands, not even glancing at the many excavators around her as they pushed to complete a similar task. She allowed her thoughts to wander, her movements becoming mechanical and fixed, shoving the sands aside in the tedious, repetitive action.

Oh, how she longed for the sight of the Nile flowing just below her riverside Cairo apartment! For a woman of the 1920's, she was remarkably independent, having lived on her own for years. But her mind could not concentrate on the dry malleable sands all around her with this train of thought. She could feel her eyes glaze over slowly as she thought about the brown waters of the life-giving Nile River. Dark with silt, rich and fine, the river was always shifting, unpredictable even with the seasons so marked. Rushing and roaring in the inundated season or soft and laughing in the unique burble of water as the level dropped in the dry season.

She could almost hear the tide crashing against the levies. Rushing, hissing, jumping, roaring, straining to be free of its confines…

"Naida!" a man called out, snapping her from her reverie. A man, cloaked from head to toe, shook her arm, gesturing wildly as he fought to be heard over the rising winds. While in her mindless state, a violent storm had arisen, washing the world in a tide of undulating brown sand. Naida followed him at his unspoken order, looking back as she stumbled, nearly blind, through the dunes.

A wave of dust cleared for a moment, allowing her to glimpse the sneering visage of the ancient stone head of Ozymandias. Ramses II. The long-dead pharaoh whose crumbling visage challenged all passerby to surpass his deeds. In the briefest moment before the sands obscured her vision once more, the lithe black form of a man upon a horse was visible next to the towering legs and pedestal that were the final remnants of a once great king.

**oOOo**

This would not, _could not_, be allowed.

He was internally fuming, furious at this new band of overly curious "archeologists". The term itself made him sick. He of all people knew that some things should remain undiscovered, lest ancient evils awaken to continue their dark legacies. The party would have to be stopped one way or another.

But the mercurial mature of the desert could not be halted, even as he mused silently. What was at one moment as calm, blazing stretch of sand and rock became a raging beast of the same material, whipping the loose folds of his pitch black robes into a swirling frenzy.

The sand and dust maelstrom cleared for a moment and, from his chosen vantage point, he glared at the briefly exposed worker as he struggled, even with assistance, to reach his camp.

Fools. All of them great fools. Anyone oblivious enough to ignore the warning signs of a sandstorm was dead without dying in the unforgivable world of the desert. This group would soon meet a worse fate should the Medjai allow them to find what they desperately sought. All of them would have to be stopped.

Ardeth Bay whipped his horse around in a tight half-circle, galloping away through the haze to his assembled warriors.

**oOOo**

Consciousness.

A cold mind, dormant for so long, stirred restlessly. A pause for observation in the impenetrable darkness.

If it could have, the thing would have grinned. So close, so close. The presence was almost palpable. The proper disturbance of a century old safeguard and… there. It was done.

Soon it would begin; this the creature knew with great certainty. This time, it would not fail. The truth of its failure had been discovered over the millennia of isolation.

A cold, deep laugh echoed through the mind, inaudible to the ear.

Unbeknownst to the surface dwellers or the mind-that-was-cold, water seeped up through the bone-dry sands, spilling into the empty chamber deep underground as though relieved to escape captivity.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Yes, I realize that the time between my updates has been wretchedly long. If you'd like to get the full update on the situation, please check my profile page. Typing out the many things dragging my writing life to hell is overwhelmingly depressing. On another note, now that I've gotten the scene set, the view may be biased to mainly covering one character or another's viewpoint better than the others. A thanks to all of you who have reviewed or added me to an alert list. Your notes have been entirely welcome and helpful, giving me the needed kick to keep working.**

**With Love, Listen Out Loud.**

**To be honest, I absolutely hate this chapter. I had to write it to get somewhere, but it's almost unnecessary and I really wish I didn't have to post it. Struggle through it please.**

**oOOo**

Hidden as she was in the enclave created by the rocky overhang, Naida felt at ease enough to relax into her saddlebags. The storm raged outside, lessening only slightly as time wore on in the stiflingly hot Egyptian afternoon. She tugged down the worn and filthy cloth covering her face from nose to jaw. Spitting out a glob of saliva gritty with sand, she swigged the lukewarm water from her canteen, wishing for the cool water that was available in the city.

"Ah, hells," she muttered grimly, annoyed at her petty desires. She was working a job she had a passion for, surrounded by friends and coworkers burning with a similar passion and yet here she was, wishing for colder water. She quirked her lips and took a careful sip, not wanting to venture out into the sands to find a pump. A snort of displeasure and a sharp shove on her back caused her to spit out her sip in a fine mist, sloshing some of the water from its leather confines as she lurched forward. With a glare, she turned in her sitting position to have a horse snuff in her face.

She laughed, "Thirsty, are we Sahi?" she said, scrubbing her fingers through the pale tuft of fur on the top of her horse's head. Sahi tossed her head, lips grazing the top of the canteen as she sought the moisture available. Naida tipped the canteen up, letting her horse suckle like a young animal. Sated, the cream colored Arabian horse folded her knees underneath her and thumped onto the cool ground, rolling slightly in the sand. Naida felt her face break into a grin at the antics of her beloved mare.

Gazing out into the raging sands once more, she slid down farther, letting the bags pillow her head as she gazed up at the ceiling. The empty canteen was placed to the side, a distraction she would worry about later.

This place had been perfect once she had found it. Formed by rubble fallen from a hidden monument below, its entrance faced north, towards the statue of Ozymandias in the distance. The sun passed over head, keeping this place cooler, as it didn't receive the brunt of morning or evening sunlight. It was on the outskirts of their encampment, giving her the privacy she desired. Even better, the time between the convenient falling of such a masterpiece and her gleeful discovery of it had heaped sand upon it by the cartload. To the casual observer, it merely seemed to be another dune in a sea of sand and rocks. It had taken some convincing to get Sahi inside, but the horse had always been quick to take to new places.

It had been days before she had discovered her oblivious error. The small dinner fire had scorched the ceiling with long tendrils of black soot, eventually uncovering hieroglyphs on the stone surface. She quickly cleared out the fire, refusing to have such a prize marred by human needs. Somewhat proficient with reading the ancient Egyptian text, she kept the discovery to herself for the time present, choosing to set it aside as her pet project. She eyes traced the pictures' linear forms, mouth moving silently as she continued her translation.

_Child born… e o… no… uma… odde… king kept… daught… _She scowled. The huge slab was covered in pictures that made no sense to her without the story around it. Unfortunately, a great percent of the glyphs had been worn away, leaving her with the occasional decipherable character or phrase.

The jingle of a bell against the howling of the still furious sandstorm distracted her as she attempted to sort out the story overhead. Naida sat up on her elbows, looking at the still swaying bell, a frown playing across her face. Odd, usually Demetrius only called when night fell and he was too tired to keep cataloging that day's finds, meager as they had been. It wasn't even evening yet. She had been expecting to wait until the storm subsided before going back to the pointless digging Demetrius had her doing.

She scrambled up as the bell rung again.

"Geez, Dee, you seem a little more impatient than usual today," she muttered to herself, slowly standing and turning to dig through her bag. "I kinda hoped he might've waited until _after_ the storm," she sighed, belting on her knife and tool kit, checking the brush heads to make sure they weren't clogged with residue. Chucking things aside, she pulled a pair of goggles from her bag, sliding back her head wrap to slip them on. Her silky, raven black hair slipped free of its constraints, lifting a bit in the wind. She cursed under her breath, reaching back to tame it with a strip of black cloth. She carefully wrapped the cloth around her head, slipping down the goggles and blinking as her eyes adjusted to the side blinders. Grabbing the canteen for a refill, she clipped it to her belt in the hopes of getting some from Demetrius's stock.

She inched outside, buffeted by the winds as she felt for the proper handhold. Her fingers brushed against the still warm stone, feeling the rough sandstone beneath her calluses. Her hand ran over the rounded edges as she shuffled forward, head bowed against the wind and sand. Her hand dropped into space and she reached forward blindly, feeling for the second stone block that led in almost a trail from her private cave to the main camp. Finding it, she continued forward at the infuriatingly slow pace, inwardly swearing that she would kill whoever rang the bell.

The bell system had been installed by Dr. Canton, Demetrius's father. The line that rang the bell ran under the sand on the inside of a thin tube. He had laid it down in a moment of "genius" as a way to call her when needed as she refused to join the encampment. It had frustrated her immensely, but she came to accept it as he didn't abuse the allowance.

In a moment of feverish swearing and loss of balance, Naida felt her foot snag on a stone underfoot, sending her stumbling to the right to land face first on a flat slab, her canteen snapping loose and skittering away. She swore once, growling vindications of vengeance on her employer as she sat, up examining the bloodied heel of her hand. Ripping off the face slip of her wrap, she carefully tied it around her hand, keeping the sand from working its way inside her wound. She stood and licked her dryi lips, moving forward slowly in an attempt to find her lost canteen.

Prickling worked its way up her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting in response to the primal feeling. Instinctively, she dropped to lie belly down on the sand, watching several black shapes move past her in the storm. Indistinct, they moved forward with purpose, quickly disappearing.

She got up quickly, following them, the pit of her stomach churning with uneasiness. She didn't need to see them to know they weren't diggers or archeologists. Her friends… they had to be warned. But she was no great warrior. A few basics here and there when she was a child did not make her capable of fighting off a full grown man, much less as many as she had seen. She stumbled on anyway, hoping the storm would keep up its ferocity, as the sands might hide her from view.

In her worry, her senses were dulled and she fell back onto her rear as she collided with the taut fabric wall of a tent. Shaking her head to rid it of the shock of collision, she got up, letting her hands run over the wall as she worked her way around the side.

A voice froze her in her footsteps as she rounded the side to face what she believed was the center of camp. The circle of tents was nearly invisible, but she recognized where she was in moments without the need for sight.

"P-please, we'll give you what want, j-just don't ki-kill us," a man sobbed. Dr. Canton. Kill? "You want the money? Take it! P-please-"

"Search the crates," another, deeper voice ordered, ignoring the blubbering doctor. "Find me if you find anything. You know what to do if you do." Voices muttered acknowledgements and Naida heard the tent flap being opened. She slid back to hide herself from view, watching as several black figures left and moved quickly towards other tents.

She paused, her heart beating madly in her chest as she weighed her options. She could run, hiding out in her cave until the men left. But they could kill her friends for finding God knows what. A shard of pottery, an interesting looking stone with a few isolated glyphs etched into the surface, anything could be the trigger that caused her friends to die. On the other hand, she could barge in, "guns ablaze" as an American would put it, demanding their release. But she was no match for one desert man, much less a few. Naida moved forward hesitantly, still arguing her choices. A sudden gunshot in the distance forced her hand.

A yelp leapt from her mouth and she felt herself flinch as a hand shot from the flap opening and, grabbing her tunic front, dragged her inside. A knife pressed itself to her throat, a sneering, Egyptian nomad holding it with a look of triumph.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I've wanted to write this chapter for so long. It may not be the way I see it in my head, but I'll try my best. Curses, foiled by that little TV in my brain again! Thanks for the reviews and favs! Omnium vostrum amo!**

**Cheers, Listen Out Loud**

**oOOo**

"You see Hadi," he crowed in Arabic to the other man, who was searching through the crates with a haphazard speed. "I told you I heard a sneak."

"That's nice, Adham," he muttered in response. Naida's eyes flickered to Demetrius and his father tied to the central support of the tent. Both were giving her wide-eyes looks of fear, but neither spoke. "Either kill her or tie her up. We don't have time for this." Her eyes closed in fear as her captor gave her a leer filled with gleeful malice. She was going to die, of dear God, she was going to _die_. Suddenly, Naida felt the dagger slip under the wrap protecting her face from the elements on her head. She eyes snapped open as he tore the protective cloth from her head.

"A woman?" the man snarled. "It would be most dishonorable to kill a woman, Hadi, you know that." He growled at the other man as if her gender was his fault. Her heart beat in her throat as her panic continued to rise. He slipped her goggles off to meet her eyes with a look of disgust and hate. She felt her muscles lock. She was frozen, unable to act.

"Well, then tie her up," his companion snapped, muttering under his breath as he turned back to his task. She was roughly dragged forward, a rope appearing in his hand, replacing the dagger. Her fear rose like a bile in her throat, blood roaring in her ears. She lashed out in a high state of panic, catching Adham in the neck, leaving him reeling backward as he choked on the damage to his trachea. His friend whirled about, sword ringing as he drew it. She drew her dagger, blatantly aware of the unfair advantage. She was not going to win, but she wasn't going to submit without defying her captors.

"Naida, duck!" Dr. Canton called out; she obeyed without question, feeling the hiss of a sword clearing her head from behind as she rolled forward, bringing the hilt of the dagger up into Hadi's jaw, hearing a grunt as he fell backwards, now unconscious. Adham leapt forward, not guarding his blade, trying to kill her cleanly. _Dishonorable, my ass_. She thought bitterly as she dodged, jumping to the side. His weight threw him off, leaving him within her reach. She lashed out without a definite target, feeling her blade slice through the flesh of his cheek. He hissed, withdrawing and glaring at her, a thin line of blood seeping down his cheek, before fleeing the tent. She snarled.

"Coward!" she cried, wanting to follow him. A cleared throat drew her attention. She turned back, giving an incredulous look to Dr. Canton as he raised his eyebrows. She sighed, cutting him loose before handing him her dagger and running into the howling storm. Naida reeled, squinting as she cursed her lack of goggles or head scarf. Her hair whipped free of its confines, the long strands stinging as they flayed her cheeks.

Fire and blood greeted her. Diggers fought, guns snapping out retorts of fire and metal at the desert invaders. The men in black responded in kind, guns and swords ripping through the inexperienced workers. A man, howling a battle cry, ran at her, sword raised as he charged her. She cried out, feeling the blade slice through the flesh of her upper arm, reaching for her non-existent dagger. She swore violently, turning to face her attacker, fists raised. He grinned madly, the tip of his blade coming up to stab.

A blow knocked him into the sand. Naida staggered back, watching Sahi rear, screaming a challenge at the man before coming down with a sharp blow onto his chest. He didn't get up. Shell-shocked, she lunged forward, grabbing the sword out of his grip, swinging up into Shai's saddle in another quick movement. She wheeled the horse around, searching for a way out. Her unbelievable luck was going to run out quickly unless she got away.

Men were marching through the gaps in the tents, some on horses, some walking. All were carrying torches and rifles. She wheeled the horse around again, leaping through the sands, trying to find a gap in the attackers' line. A warrior came at her, rifle raised in the act of shooting her from the saddle. She batted his gun aside with her stolen sword, Sahi lashing out with her teeth, catching his shoulder. He screamed, staggering back. She left him alive, urging her battle-frenzied horse forward. Escape was more important than death. She had no intent of letting either of them take the fated bullet or stab.

A dark flash in the corner of her eye forced her to raise the sword in automatic defense. The curved swords clashed with a ring of steel. Her muscles groaned under the assault, unaccustomed to the weight of the heavier man. Their horses slammed together, trapping her leg between heavy horse flesh. The steeds bit at each other, the pitch black stallion that was her attacker's horse squealing a challenge that her own fiery mare answered with equal zeal. The man withdrew, allowing her a moment to regroup. She wheeled her horse around and backed Sahi up to gain the advantage of distance.

She put on a grim face, staring down the man as he studied her. His hair, curly and dark, reached his shoulders, whipping around with as much fervor as her own. Tattoos marked the visible skin of his face, declaring him a chieftain and protector in neat Arabic. His cheeks and mouth were covered, leaving only his eyes as he watched her warily. She thought quickly, trying to formulate a plan without engaging him directly. If she fought him on equal ground, she'd be dead within minutes, if not moments.

Ardeth studied her equally, noting her diminished vision as the storm whipped her hair in front of her face. He grudgingly had to admit that she was quite attractive from what he could tell, but his mission conflicted with her actions. However dishonorable is was to fight a woman, she could not be allowed to continue in this manner after where she had been. Her hair, black enough to gleam with deep blue tints, whipped around and left small scratches on her cheeks, drawing him back to the present. He charged, watching her face as she found fear before charging forward, her jaw set. Had he not been more focused on the opponent, he might have registered her fatal bravery.

Naida held the sword forward, determined to pull off a stunt she hadn't made since childhood. She was much heavier now, but her horse was somewhat used to her acrobatics. She met the man in a charge, using her knees to grip the saddle as she slid to the right side, Sahi leaning the other way to support her and ensure that the saddle would not tip. With this stability, she sliced at the leather strap of the desert warrior's own saddle, feeling the tough material spilt under the sharp blade as she ducked underneath his wheeling sword. His saddle slid off, his horse squealing in indignation. Ardeth slipped his feet from the stirrups as he realized what she was trying to do. He rolled from the horse, landing in the soft sand as he shot to his feet, glaring at the young woman.

She felt a hint of triumph before something sharp clamped down on her leg. Crying out, she felt the teeth of his horse retract from her flesh. Her own horse reared, throwing her to the ground as the steeds defended their human masters. They circled each other, biting and lashing out with hooves. Naida staggered to her feet, quickly staunching the flow of blood as best she could. Her weight shifted to her right leg as she faced the desert man, preparing for the savage onslaught she expected.

He stood there, giving her time to regain her feet, watching the blood blossom on her leg. Something in him wanted to help, but he shoved away its incessant urgings, watching as she stood straight backed, bright blue eyes staring at him coolly while the spark of pain lit them. Ardeth moved forward and she met him, favoring her right leg.

The wind around them swirled, whipping clothing and hair in all directions. Naida strove for a defensive position. She wasn't strong enough to beat him in a real fight, nor was she skilled enough. She rolled and dodged away from his blade, using her blade to deflect his as little as possible. If she could just wear him down…

But it was not to be. Her leg wound and her shoulder wound had reopened under the fierce pressure of battle. He swept out a swipe at her torso and she leapt backwards, dodging the blow with less than a hairsbreadth between the sword and her body. Her weight landed on her left leg as she suck down into a crouch, one foot behind the other as her hand settled to push off the ground again. Crying out at the blossoming of white-hot pain, she crumpled, landing awkwardly on the ground. Ardeth saw his chance, moving forward to deliver the fatal blow. He raised his sword, looking down at her, the light of victory missing from his dark brown eyes. This was no triumph. Something was wrong with this battle, something old and something forgotten. He should not be prepared to kill her... but, why?...

The winds dropped suddenly and time seemed to freeze with the lack of howling and roaring. The sand rained down for a couple of moments. Ardeth, stunned and temporarily blinded, struck down.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the dreadfully long wait. I've been really busy lately. Anyway, here's an extremely short chapter alerting you to a key fact, namely, our heroine's status. Don't expect any new updates for about a month, as I'll be otherwise incapacitated with a backpacking and sea kayaking trip in Alaska.**

**oOOo**

"No!" he shouted as his blade sunk into something soft, but resistant. What was he doing? He had not meant to kill her! But… hadn't he been trying to…? That was his mission here, to kill the intruders or get them away… The sand cleared and he looked down to see his sword quivering in the deep sand next to the Naida's head. She stared up at him, defiance written all over her face, though her eyes held her fear and anger. _Alive_, he thought. He withdrew his sword from the sand, sheathing it back in the folds of his black robes. Her eyes flickered in surprise as he stretched down a hand to help her up. Naida hesitated, finally taking it and using his weight to regain her footing. His warm, callused hand withdrew, leaving her swaying in the bright sunlight.

"You're not going to kill me?" she asked eventually, looking at him with incredulous and wary thoughts leaping through her mind. He regarded her calmly, his previous worry forgotten. Her hair hung straight, the sun allowing the raven-like blue-black tone to gleam. Her skin was the dark tan of a native Egyptian, born and raised. Her eyes, however, were the deep blue of the untouched ocean, expressive and enchanting. She had foreign blood in her. "Well?" Naida snapped, annoyed with his scrutiny.

"No," he replied, holding her gaze. She felt her eyes widen in shock. The statement was surprising-she had expected a quick execution- but welcome. Dying wasn't on her priority list. She paused, her mind reeling. The battle so quickly started, so quickly ended. Naida's body felt like she had run across the entire desert. Ardeth warily watched her sway in exhaustion.

Blood slowly began to seep its way through her clothing. First a splotch, then a rose of the bright red color marked the reopening of the recent wounds. The stress, physical and mental, had sent her blood into a pulsating frenzy, quickening the reaction her body had to the injuries. He saw the blood as it made its way across her arm and leg and moved forward as she struggled to stay upright. He put a hand on her shoulder as she staggered to the side.

"Don't touch me!" she protested, her words slurring as she jerked away. He saw the darker, dried stains from the moment of the wounding, hardly noticeable due to the grit and grime covering her clothes. She fell, blinking slowly as she looked at the wounds, blood still oozing uncontrollably from the injury. She felt her head begin to throb and her vision flickered. She desperately wanted to smack the man in front of her as he crouched in front of her, hands up to show that he was unarmed. "St-stay away. I don't need- don't need your help…" _As if she wanted it._ Her head began to pound painfully and her eyes rolled up into her head. Darkness consumed her mind and she slumped into the sands, unconscious.

Ardeth shot out to catch her before her head hit the sand, carefully laying her straight out before he addressed the issue of her wounds. He grimaced at the nasty bite punctures marking her thigh. Truly, it wasn't Makkin's fault. His steed had only been trying to protect its master in the only way it could. He looked around for the missing steeds and saw them farther off, calmly standing beside each other, completely forgiving the other for their previous belligerence and ignoring the wounds inflicted by the other. He shook his head and removed his head scarf, wrapping the thick cloth around the slash to her abdomen.

Looking up as his horse nickered a greeting, Ardeth waved over two of his horsemen. They sat silently upon their desert steeds as he picked up the injured woman. He ignored the confusion and wariness in their eyes and whistled Makkin over. Her horse followed, chittering angrily when he tried to place his load on his own horse's back. She stamped and tossed her head, turning her side to them in open invitation. Realizing that fighting the horse would only make matters more difficult, he placed the dead weight of the woman over her horse's saddle. Naida groaned and twitched in the sub-consciousness of her mind.

Lifting himself into Makkin's saddle, Ardeth led the party into the camp. The remaining workers were gathered in the center of the camp. Most sported some kind of wound and some tended to their companions under the close watch of his men. Ardeth, holding the reins of the woman's horse, took them to the camp with the faded red cross proudly displayed over the flap entrance. One of his fighters sat on a stool next to another warrior as the make-shift medic tied the last band of gauze to a shallow wound on the other's arm.

"Nu'man," he called as the older medic stood and shod his head covering. He looked over and returned a respectful greeting for his leader. He looked down curiously at his new female patient as Ardeth placed her gently on a stretcher bed. "Do whatever it takes to her." He ordered.

Nu'man had the grace to look confused. "This woman?" he asked, wondering why a woman was present at a dig sight. Then again, he had seen it once before. His leader gazed at him without wavering. "Of course, my lord. But if I may inquire as to why?" Ardeth looked down at Naida's unconscious form, his eyes drifting over her face, calm under the influence of forced sleep. His gaze returned reluctantly to Nu'man.

"I don't know." He replied honestly.


End file.
